Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1)
Page 25
The man on the phone greeted her affectionately—as his wife. Marissa held back a gasp while her mind raced. After only a few words, she recognized the voice of the one who called himself Husaam. The passport of the female terrorist whose identity she had assumed read Baheera Abbas. But no one knew if the name was real or fake. If Baheera Abbas was her true identity, was she really the wife of Husaam… Abbas? Marissa almost dropped the phone. Could she be talking to the Husaam Abbas, leader of al-Qaeda in Syria?
Fighting to steady her voice, she responded briefly to his endearments, expecting with each word for him to realize hers was not his wife’s voice. But the conversation continued and turned serious.
“Baheera, have you seen the doctor?” Husaam asked.
Doctor? What doctor? Damn. No one briefed me on anything about a doctor. Marissa stalled. “The phone reception is bad. I cannot hear you.”
“The doctor. Have you seen the doctor?” he repeated loudly.
“No, Husaam, not yet.” She swallowed hard.
A grunt communicated his impatience and displeasure even before he spoke. “You were told to see the doctor immediately. You have not followed orders, Baheera. Why have you disobeyed me?”
Oh God, why would the real Baheera not go to the doctor? Think. Think!
“I am afraid,” the fake Baheera guessed.
“Do not delay any longer. It could be dangerous. Take care of it tomorrow. You must obey me,” he snapped.
He paused and then said something she couldn’t translate. A private joke or maybe a nickname. She sensed he was waiting for a specific response.
“I cannot hear you, Husaam,” she shouted.
A longer silence this time. Longer… and ominous. Despite the heat, a violent shiver shook her.
“The children send their love. They are asking for their mother. Would you like to give me a message for them?” he asked in a booming voice.
“I love them and miss them so much. Reassure them that I will be home as soon as—”
“Samir,” Husaam yelled. “Get Samir!”
Marissa offered a parting endearment. There was no response. What just happened? Damn. Something’s wrong, terribly wrong. Oh God, does Husaam know?
Instinctively, she assessed the situation in a heartbeat and knew she had to escape. Omar had stepped out the back door to seek relief from the heat inside the house. Samir slouched on one of the metal chairs, twirling the knife and scrutinizing her with his dark, beady eyes. Her gaze darted across the room to her purse, then back to him. Panic gripped her when she realized she couldn’t grab the purse containing her concealed Glock.
She started to turn off the phone, but stopped. That action would definitely make Samir suspicious, so she simply disconnected the call instead. Heart pounding, she set the phone on the table with trembling fingers.
“I need to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” Marissa called over her shoulder, hurrying through the archway. She jumped when the sat phone rang, and flinched when Samir’s chair scraped as he stood up. After yanking the bathroom door shut loudly as a decoy, she rushed to the front door. She stepped out into the night and closed the door silently behind her.
Deciding the men would search for her on the roads leading back to the border crossing, she ran in the opposite direction. She sprinted down the narrow street, glancing from side to side, searching for the agents who always tailed her. Where are they?
Her abaya tangled between her legs and almost tripped her. Her feet stumbled on the broken chunks of asphalt. As she fought to draw air into her laboring lungs, she clutched the niqab clinging to her gaping mouth and pushed the fabric back over her head.
She gave up hope of finding her backup agents and banged on doors. But none opened.
Minutes later, shouting obscenities, Samir and Omar flew out of the house and into the street.
Marissa slipped around the corner of the nearest building and held her breath. She inched backward. When her foot came down on the paw of a dog sleeping against the wall, the mutt yelped and sprang to its feet. It growled, and then barked ferociously.
“Hush. No bark. Quiet,” she scolded in Spanish to no avail.
She scooted back to the corner and peered down the road. As she had anticipated, the men were searching for her in the direction of the border crossing. But hearing the barking, they stopped, turned, and raced back in her direction. Marissa spun around, ran several steps, and stopped with a gasp.
The short alley was a dead end. And she couldn’t return to the road because Samir and Omar would see her.
Trapped.
With the dog biting at her heels, she tried to pry open the door of the building on the right side of the alley. The door refused to budge. Rushing across to the other building, she slammed both hands into the door. It shuddered open a crack. She rammed her shoulder into the wood, and the door gave way. Ignoring the pain shooting through her arm, she swung inside the abandoned building, pushed the dog back outside with her foot, and shoved the door shut.
Minimal moonlight filtered in through the dirty, broken windows. She strained to see as she felt along the grimy walls until she found a doorway. Repeating the pattern, she worked her way back through six rooms. Where’s another exit? There can’t be only one.
The dog’s blood-curdling yelp stopped her in her tracks. Oh God. Samir’s knife.
When the two terrorists shouted and barged into the building, Marissa slipped into another room and flattened herself against the wall beside the door. Her eyes desperately sought a way out. No more doors. Only two windows, four feet above the floor, shattered in the center. Could she dive through one without ripping herself open? Was there time?
Not bothering with stealth, the men cursed as they separated and searched, room by room. Closer and closer. When Omar stepped through the doorway, Marissa slammed the door into his face, her bulky clothes hampering her efforts.
She dashed toward the windows, but Omar recovered before she reached them. Grabbing her abaya from behind, he yelled to Samir. Viciously, he kicked the backs of her legs, buckling her knees.
She collapsed to the floor.
Samir charged through the doorway, brandishing the knife in front of him.
As she scrambled up onto her hands and knees, Omar yanked off the veil. He clutched handfuls of her long hair, exposing the back of her neck and dragging her forward. She cursed and clawed at her attackers, but both stayed just out of reach.
Samir grunted as he raised the massive knife high over her neck.
“Benja! Miláčku,” Marissa screamed.
Acknowledgments
Heartfelt thanks to my family and friends for supporting me on this roller-coaster ride called publishing. Sincere gratitude to my outstanding editor, Alex Logan, and the Forever team for everyone’s patience and guidance. And cyber hugs for my online friends at WritingGIAMx3 and Authors Helping Authors for keeping me focused on my goals and teaching me about promotion. I would also like to thank the men and women of the FBI for their service to our country and for answering many of my questions as I wrote this series.
About Marissa Garner
I’m a wife, writer, chocoholic, and animal lover, not necessarily in that order. As a little girl, I cut pictures of people out of my mother’s magazines and turned them into characters in my simple stories. Now I write sexy paranormal romantic suspense, steamy contemporary romance, and edgy romantic thrillers. I live in sunny Southern California with my husband, but enjoy traveling from Athens to Anchorage to Acapulco and many locations in between.
http://marissagarner.com
Facebook: MarissaGarnerAuthor
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
A Preview of Targeted
Acknowledgments
About Marissa Garner
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Newsletters
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Marissa Garner
Excerpt from Targeted copyright © 2015 by Marissa Garner
Cover design by Brian Lemus
Cover copyright © 2015 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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